


lock it up and leave

by couldaughter



Category: Leverage, Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Gen, Let's Go Steal Project Shepherd, Low Plot Content, M/M, Prologue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-11-02 11:54:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20737355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/couldaughter/pseuds/couldaughter
Summary: “So mercenary,” said Michael. “I don’t always need something from you.”Just you, he carefully didn’t say. They were still on fragile ground. “Was just wondering who your new friend was.”Alex and The Guy exchanged a cryptic look. Michael resisted the urge to roll his eyes.“Eliot,” said The Guy. “I owe your guy here a favour.”





	lock it up and leave

The first time Michael noticed something was up was when he saw Alex talking to The Guy.

The Guy was not, initially, that remarkable. Ex-military guys with bad haircuts are a dime a dozen in New Mexico, twice so in Roswell now the air base is expanding, and this guy was no different. Even if the haircut wasn’t really that bad, just kind of messy.

Isobel just gave him a _look_ when he mentioned it. 

But the thing about The Guy was - okay, so Michael knew he was maybe a little jealous. He had a tendency to be weird about Alex, over-protective to a fault in a way Alex seemed to actively hide away from. Nevertheless, the fact that the first time he saw Alex talking to The Guy was swiftly followed by the intrusion of The Girl into The Wild Pony’s bar staff was pinging something in the back of his brain.

It might’ve been latent brain powers, or it might’ve been good old-fashioned paranoia, but either way Michael was determined to figure it out.

“You know that guy?” He asked Maria, in his best attempt at a casual tone. They were in the Pony, her behind the bar, him nursing a tall glass of water and attempting not to stare too obviously at the corner booth.

Maria glanced across and frowned just slightly, the tiniest of creases wrinkling her forehead. God but she was fucking cute. Michael sighed a little internally. 

“No,” she said after a moment. “He’s not a regular. Real polite though. Hasn’t smacked any of my server’s asses yet and you know in this town that makes a tourist either royalty or dead.”

“Hmmm,” said Michael. He rested his chin in his hand, still not used to the lack of pain at the added pressure. “I don’t want him getting into any trouble.”

“You mean more trouble than we’re already in?” Maria asked, eyebrow raised. “I think our boy can take care of himself, Guerin.”

“Well, sure,” said Michael, slightly wrong-footed. “But --”

“Just go over and drape yourself over him if you’re so worried about it,” she interrupted, clearly distracted by a potential customer. “He probably won’t be _that_ mad about it.”

“Unlikely,” he replied, but he got up anyway and knocked back the rest of his glass. Water was, admittedly, pretty goddamn refreshing in the always-humid air of the Pony. Leaning back against the bar, he watched as The Girl took Racist Hank’s wallet right out of his jacket pocket while collecting glasses. It was a very impressive lift, one Michael only spotted because he was looking out for anything suspicious.

He thought about telling Maria, and pretty much immediately decided against it. If Racist Hank was gonna insist on existing in the same zip code as polite society he deserved all the petty theft he got.

“Hey,” said Michael, reaching Alex’s booth in a couple long strides. Crowds usually parted for him. Some might’ve called it supernatural.

Alex looked up with a faint frown, eyes narrowed. “Hey, Michael,” he said. “What d’you need?”

The Guy turned in his chair, giving Michael an assessing glance he really didn’t like.

“So mercenary,” said Michael. “I don’t always need something from you.” _Just you_, he carefully didn’t say. They were still on fragile ground. “Was just wondering who your new friend was.”

Alex and The Guy exchanged a cryptic look. Michael resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Eliot,” said The Guy. “I owe your guy here a favour.”

Now that they were facing each other, Michael could get a slightly better look at Eliot. He was probably mid-thirties, every year of it showing on his face, and the three-quarter sleeved henley didn’t bother to hide forearms covered in scars. 

Michael could tell what a couple of them were from. It wasn’t a nice memory to compare anything to.

His eyes were sharp but not cruel, which was pretty much all Michael was worried about. Ex-military types made his skin itch only slightly less than currently-military types. Alex usually excepted, of course.

“I’m Michael,” said Michael, offering his hand to shake. Eliot took it, grip firm and skin calloused. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.” He winked.

Alex rolled his eyes. “You wish, Guerin,” he said, somewhat fond. “Eliot’s part of a, uh, specialised team. Figured they could help us with our Shepherd problems.”

“Right,” Michael replied. He slid into the booth, nudging Alex to one side, pressed up against his arm. He was wearing a flannel, because of course he was, but Michael could just see the edge of a band t-shirt peeking out between a few of the buttons.

He glanced to the side and raised his eyebrows at The Girl, who was walking past with a set of car keys dangling innocently from one hand. The Girl, nonplussed by his attention, stuck her tongue out at him and disappeared into the crowd.

“Best leave Parker to it,” said Eliot, eyes softened just slightly. 

Michael nudged Alex in the ribs. Alex turned to glare at him, with minimal heat. 

“Who the hell is this guy?” He murmured, leaning in close enough he could almost feel Alex’s heart rate increase.

“Met him on my first deployment,” said Alex, equally quiet, equally close. “The rest is classified.”

“Sexy,” said Michael, at a normal volume. Alex sighed.

Eliot was watching them both. Michael met his gaze as confidently as he could. “So, how much do you know about our, uh, problem?”

“Oh, I’m pretty acquainted with it,” said Eliot. He swept a hand through his hair. “Your boy here is a hell of a good hacker, but the guy I run with is better. He found a whole backlog that read like a fucking X-File.”

“I bet,” said Michael, gut punched. “Alex, you run this plan by anybody else?”

“Kyle asked if I had any special forces contacts left, so I said I’d check a few out,” he said, unashamed. “I asked Isobel and she said to do whatever it took. Eliot’s the only one who could guarantee results. He’s got… a hell of a track record.”

Michael decided he didn’t want to know. The look on Alex’s face was remote, like he was looking at Michael and seeing nothing but sand.

He turned back to Eliot. “You think you can help us take ‘em down?”

Eliot nodded. “We’ve brought down a government before." He huffed a laugh. "Illegal paramilitary groups are kinda like Tuesdays for us.” The Girl - Parker - slid out of the crowd and deposited a pile of stolen goods on the table.

“Alright,” she said, cheerfully. “I got a bunch of drivers licenses, half a dozen Airforce security cards and a whole pack of Twizzlers for Hardison. Looks like we can get into the airbase no problem. You got the mark yet?”

“Just comin’ to that,” said Eliot. He smiled up at Parker, just a twitch of his lips. Michael could recognise the look in his eyes, though. 

“I got a good idea who you could target,” said Michael. He flexed his fingers, felt the phantom ache that still twisted up them on cold days. “Provided Alex doesn’t mind.”

“You think he isn’t first on my list?” Alex asked. He looked at Michael, caught his gaze and stared him down. _After what he did to you_? 

Michael hasn’t developed psychic powers yet - although not for lack of trying - but he could swear he could feel Alex saying the words. His throat felt dry all of a sudden.

Alex turned back first, appearing totally unruffled. It was a quality Michael had hated for years, the way Alex had learned to put on a mask so easily. He hated that he’d had to learn it at all. 

“You can assure me this won’t blow up in our faces?” Alex asked. His hand brushed Michael’s thigh beneath the table, light enough that it could’ve been a mistake. It wasn’t. 

Michael grabbed his hand before he could think better of it.

“Only guy taking the fall will be the one who deserves it,” said Eliot, steadfast.

Parker smiled, sharp and cold. Knife-like. “Master Sergeant Manes won’t know what hit him.”

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'start a war' by the national
> 
> when i have time this WILL become a longer fic! just wanted to get out some initial Thoughts and Feelings about how PERFECTLY THIS CROSSOVER FITS.
> 
> #EliotSpencerCanonicalStargateTeamMember
> 
> anyway, find me on twitter/tumblr @dotsayers having a 24/7 meltdown about something or other


End file.
